Six More Weeks of Winter
by fromBelgiumwithchocolatexD4
Summary: When Natalia's boyfriend runs off with another, her life is plunged into turmoil, complete with jealous exes, wise men, and the cowardly Italian next door. This is her story.


The blustery wind picked up the grime and dust of the street, and would've taken Natalia Arlovskaya's lithe frame along with it, had it not been for the petite Belarusian's gravity keeping her in place. The woman stifled a sneeze as she stepped onto the crowded BART train and grabbed one of the rails. There were enough germs in that place without her contributing to it all, she thought with a sneer of disgust as she saw heard the man behind her let out a cough that should've killed him, but didn't, but succeeded in making the spit particles fly and splatter ostentatiously against the already-filthy train window. She counted the stops, Lafayette, Rock Ridge, and Orinda, so on and so forth until she reached her final destination she'd left that very morning to go see a friend in the city.

Natalia pulled her warm jacket around her frame that covered the tops of the skinny jeans she'd just purchased, enticed by how they looked on her and hugged her legs that looked like a ballerina's, instead of her actual profession as a harried journalist with barely enough time to grab a cup of coffee in the mornings from the break room at the _"_San Francisco Beacon", _(a smaller, lesser-known newspaper compared to the big names you'd see in the newsstands)_, much less be sure to exercise and still have a social life. Yes, if there was one thing you could say about Natalia Arlovskaya, it'd be that she was determined to make something of her life, even the little cottage with the white picket fence carefully stored in the back of her mind until further notice.

Her car sat idly in the parking lot, where she'd left it that morning, the sleek paint of the cherry-red Altima a bright contrast to the dreary olive-green Jaguar on the left, a faded blue Honda Odyssey on the right and Natalia clicked the lock and slid into the familiar comfort of her black leather upholstery, letting out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. As she revved up the engine, she saw out of the corner of her eye, Lukas, her co-worker, standing by his car, a dazzlingly white Buick, talking agitatedly into his cell-phone. She furrowed her brow. Something just didn't seem right. His face was tenser than usual and his hands, usually so still, fidgeted mercilessly with the hem of his sweater. _(Authentic Norwegian, she'd heard. A supposed gift from one of his relatives, she assumed.) _She lifted a hand to wave to him, and then let it drop and idle on the steering wheel, knowing long before she saw for sure that he would not wave back.

She cruised up the roads of Walnut Creek, her straight-as-a-knife platinum hair bouncing around in the hastily made ponytail she'd tied earlier, then tumbling free where the elastic couldn't quite reach. She saw their house up the way and sped up a little, eager to get home and into the bath-tub that she could see Mt. Diablo from…maybe she'd even put some bubble bath in…oh yes, now she NEEDED to get home. She pressed the controls she'd clipped on her visor and the garage door opened just in time for the car to come to a silently screeching halt. She climbed out, taking along her briefcase, now overflowing with articles and facts she needed to check before they could actually be printed in the next issue. She heaved a sigh. In spite of her heavenly bath she was going to take, she'd have a less than pleasant evening, guaranteed.

She pushed open the doors to the house, and for a moment she was struck by how quiet it was. Francis, her boyfriend, obviously had been here, for there were two new bottles of Chardonnay next to the stove. Natalia certainly would've never bought them. Much as she liked the wine her boyfriend brought over, she was a vodka girl and would always be. Hey, opposites attract. It happens. Even if the flamboyant Frenchman wasn't there, he'd usually leave with the CD player on a constant loop of Edith Piaf singing her heart out. She knew she was earlier home than Francis would've expected, but it was just…bizarre.

She shook her head to rid herself of the silence and started up the green carpeted stairs, intent on reaching that bubble bath before anything else, tossing her briefcase and the normal day's clothes on the wonderful mattress she and Francis had bought, and stripping down until she remained in her underwear. She drew the bathwater hot and strong, catching the cold in a bucket to water the plants outside, and then when only heat remained, she sank into blissful warmth, watching the bubbles along the surface of the water.

She lathered shampoo onto her hair, scrubbing until her hands came back covered in their white and fluffy residue. She saw a few bugs try to worm their way inside, not realizing that the windows were fully closed.

Then she heard it.

That one loud, tell-tale creak of the door downstairs, as it was opened into the house. She quietly climbed out of the bath-tub, and wrapped her robe around her figure before slipping out of the door like a breeze. She paused at the door to take the small pocketknife she always kept above the door. It was no machete by far, but it would serve its purpose if needed. She sharpened it every Wednesday. She just worked like that.

Her wet hair curled around the nape of her neck, the beads of now ice water slithering down onto the gentle curve of her back as she slunk down the stairs, crouching behind the banister every so often when she heard a noise. Then the CD player switched on. Edith Piaf. Natalia sighed slightly in relief. Francis. She straightened up and went downstairs…to where she saw none other than Francis, but with another. One she definitely hadn't expected to see.

"Lukas?"


End file.
